Don't Make Me Go
by theatrics
Summary: This takes place directly after Karofsky slushies Santana in the hallway while she's talking to Brittany.


The feeling was queer, almost unintentionally poetic. Like concurrent arctic knives and molten needles, in a single beat of her fast-racing heart, shards of frozen Red Dye #40 saturated her face and rained down the front of her blouse. She barely had time to react, to close her eyes before the crimson liquid infiltrated every last inch of her face.

Her body tensed, and her lips parted. She couldn't rightfully say if she had screamed in response, if only because of the sheer intensity of the slushie's initial assault. Even so, the subsequent pain in the nest of her throat spoke volumes, and it took her only a moment to whip her head to the right in a failed attempt to clear her vision.

"Santana!"

She heard _her_ scream.

"Oh, my god, _Santana_!"

But Santana couldn't be bothered. She was seeing red, and it wasn't just the food additive. Brittany was essentially nonexistent to her as she spun on her heels and slid her left hand over her face in one swift motion. In spite of her balance being severely compromised by the clumps of felled slushie on the floor, she powered through the slick substance with such fierce purpose that the hallway population parted on its own accord.

A bellowing sound gurgled at the base of her throat as she charged after him, her knuckles white at her sides. This was it. She had fucking _had it._ After all those years of inner turmoil over her own identity, after all the bullying that Kurt had suffered through, this was it. This would end today.

"_HEY_!"

As though he wasn't expecting someone on his coat tail, the bulky football player paused first before turning his head. Santana wasn't so blind as to not catch the fleeting astonishment on his face, but she also didn't give a damn, either. With liquid dripping down her cheeks, she charged toward him, throwing her entire body weight forward as she neared her target. Her unconsciously issued battle-cry wasn't enough to save the bully from her full-body tackle. Almost instantaneously, they were on the floor, with Santana straddling his chest.

"HOW FUCKING _DARE YOU_!"

Feral and inconsolable, she bore her fists and aimed directly for his face with all of her might. Fuck the consequences; to hell with the repercussions. This bastard had it coming. In her mind, he deserved this.

"What the hell? Get off me, you stupid dyk—"

She hit him again and again and again, until she knew that she had his attention. Grabbing him by his grimy locks of hair, she yanked him to her attention.

"You gonna hit me back, asshole?" spat the dark-haired girl as the boy beneath her could only wriggle around as though he suddenly forgot how to do anything else. "You gonna hit me or not, you prick? What, just because I'm a girl you thought I wasn't going to fucking fight back? Fuck you." Santana tightened her grasp on his hair as people around them tittered apprehensively. In her heart of hearts, the former cheerleader knew that she was short on time. There would be staff here at any moment to separate them and apprehend her.

"I will fucking end you, do you understand me? You may have chased off Kurt, but you are playing a whole different ball game with me, you stupid bastard. Just fucking _lay off_, okay? Get a god-damned clue before I stick my foot so far up your ass that your fucking nose will bleed!" in her rage, she lost all mature and intelligible thinking. As she glowered down at him there, clumps of his hair in her hands, she saw only hatred, blind and searing. Her teeth slammed together. "Just because you're a fucking closet-ca—"

"Santana!"

She felt arms on her shoulders, robust and firm. Santana instantly fell backward, off Karofsky, and onto her behind. This damn near knocked the breath right out of her.

"What the he—"

"Santana, _no_!"

It was Brittany, and her arms were locked like a vice around Santana's shoulders pulling her back and up, onto her feet.

"I'll get you back for this, Lopez!" Dave was hollering, as he clutched his nose and stumbled to his feet with the help of a few of his teammates. Santana was steaming as she tried frantically to fight against Brittany's hold.

"LET ME GO!" she shrieked, but the blonde's hold was unrelenting. Her upper body strength far out-matched Santana's overall power. Within a few moments, Brittany had quite literally _dragged _Santana into one of the girls' bathrooms.

"God, damn it, Brittany! What the fuck is your problem?" her temper was flaring as she, at long last, was able to tear away from her best friend. "I had him! I fucking had him!"

"Santana, _calm down_."

"I was going to—!"

"Santana," Brittany grabbed the smaller girl by her shoulders again securely and looked her directly in the eyes with those steely baby blues. "calm. down."

The floodgates opened, and oxygen quite literally surged back into her lungs after Brittany's demand. Santana was left fuming and borderline hyperventilating.

"Breathe."

It was another command, and Santana, though visibly aggravated by Brittany's interference, at least gave the notion some consideration as she tried to come off her adrenaline high. Her shoulders fell slightly, as she heatedly sucked in her lower lip.

All the while, seeing this positive progression, the taller of the two had moved to the sink and snatched a small pile of paper towels from the dispenser. She had returned to Santana loyally within seconds.

"Don't touch me," Santana hissed stubbornly, waving Brittany's attempts to help her away. Her friend frowned and furrowed her eyebrows.

"Santana, don't be like that," her voice was soft. "Let me help you, honey."

"No."

"Santana."

"I don't want you to help me. I can do this myself."

"You're a terrible liar," Brittany cooed easily as she watched Santana try to comb some of the slushie from her hair with her own fingers.

"Shut up."

"Santana."

Santana exhaled and looked about, exasperated.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay? I'm just—"

"Upset… I know," then, Brittany reached out to lightly dab the brunette's cheek with a moist paper towel. "but you don't have to take it out on me, San. I just want to help you, you know?"

Guilt briefly washed over Santana's face as she stood there, motionless.

"I know," those rounded eyes of brown desperately sought out Brittany's. "I just— this was," she rolled her lips and dropped her hands in dismissal. "This was exactly what I was afraid of, Brittany, and you know it."

"Santana," Brittany caressed the shorter girl's cheek with her hand. "I know… but you've just got to be strong, sweetie."

"Easy for you to say," Santana grimaced while Brittany looked like a scolded child.

"That isn't fair…"

"Oh, it isn't? You're dating _him_, and I'm dealing with— with— I _told you _how I felt. I laid it _all _on the line for you, Brittany, and you're telling _me_ it isn't fair that I'm getting all of the flak while you're off chasing— oh, I'm sorry— rolling your candy-apple _boy_friend around a placid meadow, catching butterflies? Yeah, life's totally unfair."

Brittany's hands fell at her sides as she watched Santana take to the sink herself.

"You know what, Brittany? Just leave."

"Wha…"

"Please. Just go. I'll deal with this myself."

"San, I don't want to leave you— not now, especially not now."

"What's so different about this time from all of the other times, Brittany?"

The words hit hard. For a split second, via the mirror, Santana caught the color rushing to Brittany's cheeks. Santana expected her to leave then and there, to go off and do whatever it was she did with her life nowadays, but Brittany didn't. Out of almost nowhere, the blond girl moved and resolutely melded her body into Santana's. Her arms snaked around Santana's sides to rest at her friend's stomach, warm and steady. Brittany held onto the other girl from behind in this way as she buried her face into the back of Santana's neck. Within moments, Santana was entirely aware of the heart-wrenching dampness of her best friend's cheeks.

Santana bit her own tongue— and_ hard_. Leaning over the sink still, she gripped it unforgivably in order to steady both of them and their embrace.

She didn't know what to say, how to make this somehow 'okay' (because it wasn't). So, she merely stood there, mentally shrieking anguish over how much she had missed this, the smoldering fervor of their embraces.

"Don't make me go," came her broken plea. "Please, San, _please_."

As tears shimmered in her already-burning eyes, Santana dared to place her own hands over Brittany's (which were interlocked upon Santana's abdomen). Openly albeit quietly, she wept— her tears forming a cocktail of remorse that streaked down her feverish cheeks.

"I don't want you to go," she murmured. "You know I've never meant that."


End file.
